


Lazarus

by RenkonNairu



Series: Day Away [5]
Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Gen, Jealousy, Resurrection, Revenge, effects of time travel, inconsistent memories
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2018-01-25 10:14:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1645058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenkonNairu/pseuds/RenkonNairu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Series<br/>Tim and Conner are still coping from their unscheduled trip into the future. While unbeknownst to them, traveling through time has a strange and unforeseen ripple effect. As a butterfly's wings can cause hurricanes, so too can hopping around the time stream raise the dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Aftermath Effect

**Author's Note:**

> Finally, after a two year hiatus from the fandom, I have returned to my Day Away fanon series. I do apologize for my extended absence. At first it was because I wanted to wait for season two to end because I had crazy ideas of being able to make this series attest somewhat compliant with the canon cartoon. Then, when the series finally did end, I had so many feels I could barely even think, let alone write anything of worth. The remainder of the time, after I got over everything, was spent ingesting over how I could possibly ever reconcile the fanon I had established with the actual canon. Now, I have concluded that I cannot and I'm okay with that now. I'm just gonna roll with what I've already got and continue from there. 
> 
> That being said, there are a few things from the series that, while they did not actually happen in any of my written works will still be considered 'canon' within the series. They are… Kaldur's name is cleared, everyone knows Artemis is alive and she is now Tigress, the Cave still got destroyed. That is what happened in the series since I stopped writing that I am keeping even though I didn't write any of it myself. As for the other BIG stuff such as Wally disappearing into the Speed Force and the Reach blurting out the secret of the Team's existence on national television… I'm not yet sure what I'm gonna do with those. If I'm actually going to include them or disregard them within the context of my already established fanon cont. 
> 
> That's one of the nice things about AUs, you can pick and choose. 
> 
> Thank you all. Please enjoy the latest installment of Day Away.

The boy wonder spat blood from his mouth and used his good hand to try and push himself up. His other arm, his broken arm, dragged along beside him. His left eye was so swollen that he couldn't see out of it. No depth perception. But that didn't stop him from using his good hand to try and throw a robinrang impotently at the warehouse door. It clanged uselessly against the metal lock, not having enough force to do much else than make noise. With a groan of pain and exhaustion, Robin collapsed back on the floor, still conscious, but otherwise unmoving. 

In the center of the room was a bomb. Something simple and crude, just TNT and a timer. But it was no less deadly. But with only one working arm, poor vision, faintness from pain and bloodless, and the panic that was slowly rising in him, he didn't have a hope of disarming it. 

On the far side of the room -farthest from the bomb- Sheila crouched with her arms around her shoulders and sobbed. She knew as well as he did that if Robin's mentor didn't come save then in the next minute and twenty-four seconds… twenty-three seconds… twenty-two seconds… then they would both die. 

"Jason…" she whispered. "Jason… can't you do something?"

Robin remained where he was on the floor. He'd already tried moving, and he'd already tried throwing something. He didn't have the strength to force the door and he didn't have the motor skills to try and diffuse the bomb. So, no. He couldn't do anything. Nothing except place blame. This was all her fault anyway! She was the one who handed him over to the Joker in the first place! 

He was so excited. Jason was so excited, optimistic and happy to finally find his biological mother. But the moment he arrived in Ethiopia and learned that she was being blackmailed by the Joker, everything was just one disappointment after another from that point on. The blackmail was for her embezzlement, syphoning off funds from the aid foundation she worked for, taking from the very people she was supposed to be helping. If that wasn't bad enough, in an effort to cover up her clandestine dealings, she turned him -her own son!- over to the Joke. There then followed the brutal beating by crowbar that left Jason in his current state and now here they were, locked in an abandoned warehouse about to be blown to bits. 

This was all her fault. It was her fault that they were trapped here. About to explore in another minute. Fifty-seven seconds… 

Jason was so excited to meet his real mother. But now that he had, he decided he hated the woman. 

But Bruce would save him. Batman would save him. Jason could count on Bruce for anything. 

Fifty-six seconds…

Bruce was a far better father than any of his foster parents or boys homes had been. 

And Dick. Dick wasn't so bad either. Even if he and Bruce weren't on the best of terms at the moment. 

Fifty-five seconds…

And the Team. Dick's Team. Him, Wally, Kaldur, Conner, M'gann, Garfield. He didn't always see eye to eye with the campy saps, but they could always be counted on in a pinch. That was the really great thing about the Team. They might not get along all the time. They might get onto him about his smoking in the Cave. Or accuse him first whenever something went missing. He was a street kid, so he must have stolen it. 

Fifty-four seconds…

But when it really came down to it. When things really mattered. On missions. They always had his back. And he always had theirs. 

Fifty-three seconds…

This was not a mission. He wasn't assigned to travel to Ethiopia and track down a crooked aid worker. It was just something he did on his own. A personal quest. He hadn't told anyone about it. Not really. He was sure Bruce knew and just wasn't going to stop him. He understood that it was something Jason had to do. Dick probably also knew. It was hard to hide things from him. Not in the same way that it was hard to hide things from Bruce. Dick was far more empathetic to the people around him and could just tell. Would just know. 

Fifty-two seconds…

One of them would realize something was up. He was gone to long. Something just didn't feel right. 

Fifty-one seconds…

Bruce and Dick would come themselves. Dick might even bring the Team. Maybe not the whole Team. But Wally, Conner, and M'gann. 

Forty-nine seconds…

"Jason… you're Robin. can't you do something?" Sheila moaned, her hysterical voice shrill.

Forty-seven seconds… 

His mother might not care about him. But there was a whole army of people outside that did! Bruce, Dick, Alfred, Wally, Conner, M'gann, Garfield… They would come. They would all come!

Forty-five seconds…

They would come tearing through the door. Or bursting through the ceiling. 

Forty-three seconds…

Bruce and Dick would defuse the bomb. Or Wally would pick it up and run it somewhere far, far away and come back before it could explode. M'gann would use her telekinesis to propel it up into the air, far enough away that the explosion wouldn't bother any of them. Or Conner would hold tight and contain the explosion in his hands. 

Forty-one seconds… 

He would be saved. One way or another, he would be saved. Bruce, Dick, Conner, M'gann, Wally… To many people on the outside cared about him. He would be saved. 

Thirty-nine seconds…

Bruce, Dick, Conner, M'gann, Wally, Kaldur, Garfield, Artemis… They would come for him. 

Thirty-six seconds…

They would save him. He would be safe.

Thirty-three seconds…

Bruce, Dick, Conner, M'gann, Garfield, Artemis…

Thirty seconds…

They were coming. Any second now they would burst through that door or break through that ceiling.

Twenty-seven seconds…

Bruce, Dick, Conner, Garfield, M'gann.

Twenty-four seconds…

It was just taking them a while, but they were on their way. Any moment now, though. Any moment now they would be charging in to save him. 

Twenty-one seconds…

Bruce, Dick, Conner, Garfield.

Sixteen seconds…

Down to the wire now. They would be bursting through that door right… now!

Eleven seconds…

Bruce, Dick, Conner. Now! 

Five seconds…

Now!

One second…

Bruce, Dick...

…They didn't come. 

Nobody really cared. Bruce, Dick, Conner, Wally, M'gann, Kaldur, Garfield, Red Tornado, Black Canary, the whole Team… nobody cared. 

.  
tick-tick-tock  
.

In a place that is not a place, at a moment that does not exist within any stream of time, Rip Hunter's Time-Sphere hovered.

He found it! Hypertime.

All hypothetical pasts… and possible futures… all timelines of all parallel universes and alternate dimensions laid out before him. Each timeline branching out as all possible choices of all critical decision points created a new line, a new dimension, a new universe.

Rip hovered outside of all universes, looking at a Multi-verse.

The multi-verse. Hypertime.

It was unlocked now. Open to any and all that had the means of reaching it and the knowledge to traverse it. The Linear Men called it a 'Pandora's Box of Time', but he didn't believe them. They were far to rigid in their views and treatment of the time-stream. Time-streams. It was plural.

Hypertime was opened.

…And for those who knew how to listen, though out all the universes, dimensions and timelines, across every planet and every star, the sound of breaking glass –as of something thick but crystalline fracturing- could be heard.

But as everyone knows, just as when you throw a stone in a pond, it creates ripples. So too does broken glass create fracture lines that reach outward. Exposing weak spots or creating flaws. Changing the image reflected in the glass. Creating new reflections. Similar to the ones next to it, but still noticeably different. 

.  
tick-tick-tock  
.

Jason woke to the sound of breaking glass.

He didn't know where he was. The last thing he remembered was the flash and the noise. Then searing hot pain all over and silence. 

Was he dead?

Possibly. It seemed like he was in a box. 

A large man-sized box. Softly padded, almost like a bed. He even had a pillow. 

And his clothing! A nice suit. Not his Robin uniform but a three piece gentleman's suit complete with black tie. A funeral tux. He was in a funeral tux. He was in a coffin. He was dead. 

Or buried alive. He didn't feel dead. 

But he was rather sure he must have died. Nobody came to rescue him. Nobody cared. They would give him a proper burial but they couldn't be bothered to save his fucking life! Bruce, Dick, the Team… they were no different than his corrupt, back-stabbing, bitch of a mother! She gave him away as a baby and she gave him away to the Joker. Bruce would bury his body, but he wouldn't save his life. Bruce killed him. And his mother killed him. By Bruce's inaction, he was dead. By his mother's hand he was given to the man that killed him. 

His mother killed him. Bruce killed him. Dick killed him. The Team killed him. It was all of them. All of them! They were all guilty. 

They could give him a proper burial, but they couldn't save his life! What bullshit is that!?

Jason clenched his hands into fists and punched the roof of his coffin. The impact causing a solid THUMP and a few motes of dust to fall on his face. But the wood splintered under his knuckles. 

With his other hand the late boy wonder rubbed the dirt from his eyes and realized that he still had his strength and his training. He could dig himself out. It would be difficult. Solid wood coffin. Six feet of dirt. Limited air. He could die again before he actually did get out. It was possible. But Jason promised himself it wouldn't happen. He would get out of here and when he did he would take his revenge on everyone who had betrayed him. On every one who left him for dead. 

They would give him a proper burial, but they would't save his life. Bruce, Dick, the Team, the Joker… he would get them all!

He would get them.

.  
tick-tick-tock  
.

Tim lay on his bed, his math book from school open in front of him, his laptop displaying a half-typed mission report for Dick to his side. Both sat forgotten. Instead, Tim's gaze was on the cover of a perfectly ordinary and innocent looking journal. A little blue book. It looked harmless. Mundane, even. But it was anything but. For this journal had come from the future and it was written by Tim himself. Or rather, it would be written by Tim himself. 

It contained all the major earth shattering and significant personal events between last Halloween past and the year 2056. It was given to Tim by his future counterpart in the hopes that reading it would change his dark and dystopian present. 

But that was the thing with time travel.

It created a paradox. 

If Tim read the little blue book, then there were two possible outcomes. The first being a Barjavel Paradox. In which Tim -perhaps with the help of Kon and Bart- takes the knowledge and information contained within the journal and make all the right decisions at all the rights and makes everything turn out okay. Builds a better future than the one he saw. That sounded great. But then, if the future really was all fine and dandy, then he would have to reason to give the book to his past self-or ever write it in the first place for that matter. There by never actually giving it to his past counterpart. If he didn't have the book then nothing would change and the dystopian future would still happen. 

The other possible outcome being a self-fulfilling prophesy. That by taking steps to prevent the events described in the book, he is actually the one to cause them. Not so different from the prophesies of Delphi from ancient Greek myth. A king takes his newborn son to Dephi to have his future told and the oracle tells the king that his son will kill him and marry his mother. In an effort to prevent this, the king sends his son away to be raised by another family. When the exiled prince comes of age, he too goes to Delphi where they tell him he will kill his father and marry his mother. In an effort to prevent this, the boy leaves home. On his travels he meets a man, a king, on the road and kills him over a small slight. As penance for the killing, he promises to look after the king's wife and city. And so, without knowing it, the exiled prince killed his father and married his mother. Only after several children does he learn the truth and gouge his own eyes out.

It was a well knows story. 

Bad things happen to those who know to much of their own futures. 

Hesitantly, Tim lifted the front cover and peeked at the first page as if he were examining a bomb. Even forty years in the future, Tim was still himself. He was methodical and perfectly organized. The first page sported a table of contents. Each 'chapter' featured a page number, a date and a title. Tim tried not to look at the dates, or if his eyes did manage to catch a number, he made a conscious effort not to take note of it besides the fact that he recorded it scientifically -year, month, day. 

There were some titles that he decided one did not need to see the future to know would happen eventually. Things like 'Batman-Dick', or 'Superman-Kon'. Thanks to his trip to the future, Tim already knew Kon eventually took up the mantel of Superman and built a new Fortress in Kansas. And it didn't take a rocket scientist to realize that Bruce wasn't gonna live forever and that Dick -as the oldest and most experienced- would take over the Batman mantel one day. Then there were titles that, while unfamiliar, were still expected given what he already knew of the future. Things like, 'Apokolips-First Contact', 'Apokoliptan Magma Vents', or 'Hellspores'. 

But the one that Tim feared to look at the most was the chapter entitled simply 'Demon'.

He supposed it could be referring to anything. The Demon Etrigan, perhaps. Or a demonic crisis, something mystical in origin that they'd have to fight with the help of their supernatural colleagues. But something told Tim that wasn't the case. Something deep in his bones knew that the chapter entitled 'Demon' was referring to his grim reaper. The man that would one day kill him. 

_A flash of silver steel in dim light. A splash of blood, flowing freely from an opened well in the chest._

Tim shut his eyes against the memory. 

Of all the times and places he could have gone in all of time and space, he had to be transported to the time and place of his own death. In all of time and space, across every planet and every star there is one place and time a person should never travel to. No one should see their own death. No one should go to the time and place of their own death. But Tim did. He witnessed his own death and it haunted his nightmares ever since returning to the present. 

Tim shut the little blue book, slamming the cover down with more force than was necessary and slid the thing under his bed. _A flash of silver steel in dim light. A splash of blood, flowing freely from an opened well in the chest._ Like a monster under his bed. 

Kon wanted to talk about it. About what they saw in the future and what they were told. But Tim didn't want to. How was he supposed to tell someone he witnessed his own death? That he knew the method, location, date and exact time of his final demise. It was a conversation Tim just didn't know how to have, let alone actually wanted to have. Kon said he had something important he needed to share. But after seeing his own death, Tim decided he knew to much about the future already and didn't want to hear anymore. 

What they needed to do was focus on the important things. The big, Earth-shattering events. One day, Earth would be invaded by another hostile alien. But unlike the Reach, who wanted to use humans as cattle, these new invaders were seeking… well, actually, no one ever explained what exactly Apokolips wanted with Earth. He knew they drilled holes all the way down to the planet's core and filled the skies with ash. But he didn't know why. 

He supposed he would find out one way or another. The important thing was that they were prepared. Tim already knew how to defeat them.  
So, there was nothing to worry about. 

He turned back to his computer, forcing himself to finish his mission report. After that, he would finish his math homework and go to bed.  
But his mind kept wandering to that book under the bed. 

Like a monster under the bed…

.

tick-tick-tock  
.

Startling several crows, a hand burst through the ground. Then a second. Clawing at the ground around them, the two hands scratched and pulled.  
A head emerged next. 

Then shoulders and torso. 

Soon a whole person was climbing out of the six foot deep hole they had created. He gasped for air. Coughing and wheezing. Crawling on the ground away from the grave, from _his_ grave. 

Jason Peter Todd  
2000-2014

He rolled over on his back and gazed up at the thick smog-layered sky. Gotham. He was in Gotham. Of course he would be buried in Gotham. They could give him a proper burial. They could retrieve his body from a foreign country to bury him. But they couldn't be bothered to save his life. Bruce, Dick, Alfred, Conner, Wally, Garfield, M'gann, Artemis, Kaldur, Red Tornado, Black Canary, everyone! He hated them all!

This was the last conscious thought Jason had before he passed out, exhausted from his exertions. But alive.


	2. Planning Plans

"So, are you having Thanksgiving with Clark and I, or with the Team?" Lois asked as Kon opened the door for her. 

Since the destruction of the Cave, Kon had been living mostly at the Kent Farmhouse in Kansas. But it was just himself, Wolf, and Sphere. With no other sapient creature to converse with verbally, he got stir-crazy often and so ended up spending every other weekend with either Tim in Gotham or Clark and Lois in Metropolis. This weekend saw him in Metropolis and Lois -whom was between stories at the moment- decided to draft his help in sifting through the records room looking for something interesting and still relevant that she could dredge up.

She did this from time to time. One of two things happened when she did. The first being that whatever story she chose was nothing more than a distraction. Something to keep her mind occupied during a slow newsweek, and the story was instantly dropped and forgotten the moment something actually happened and she rushed to beat Clark to the story. The other outcome was that she just by sheer happen chance picked either a cold-case or a cover-up and either solved it when the Metro PD couldn't, or exposed the conspiracy. 

Considering Lois' penchant for trouble, Kon was hoping to steer her towards the former. He and Clark had had enough of the latter over these past five and a half years. 

"Donno yet." He said, following her into the elevator, pushing the glasses Clark asks him to wear when in town up the bridge of his nose. "Jaime already said he's gonna have dinner with his family and I think he also wants to take it as an opportunity to reconnect with his friend -I told you about him, Apache Chief. Then there's the possibility that Cassie might fly to Rhodes to spend Thanksgiving with her mother. And Karen promised Mal that they would have a special dinner that's just the two of them. So that's four members of the Team that are gone already."

"Mm." She nodded tapping her foot with impatience as she watched the numbers on the elevator climb. "So, since some of them are doing their own thing, so everyone might decide to do their own thing."

The elevator doors slid open and the conversation was instantly dropped the moment Lois grabbed him by the jacket collar and dragged him across the bullpen towards the claustrophobic and musty smelling records room. 

Lois started pulling boxes off shelves and arranged them in her own strange and unique order by what she found to be 'interesting' news. And, of course, the first file box she reached for was cold cases. Kon stepped in quickly. 

"Can I look through the cold cases this time?" He asked as innocently as possible. "You always stick me with the boring political stuff which is a total snor-fest."

There was a moment's hesitation in which Kon panicked that Lois might already see through his ploy to keep her out of trouble. But she shrugged anyway and pushed the file box towards him. 

"Thanks."

There then followed one of the most boring hours of Kon's month. It involved pulling out files, skimming rejected articles or page twelve headlines, deciding there was nothing of interest and moving on. He was through two boxes and starting on his third when something caught his attention. It was striking because Kon had never heard of this incident before and it was the type of thing that he would have heard of even if Nightwing or Batman never would have allowed him to help with it. 

Teen Grave Violated! 

It was an article from back in 2014. Not a front page worthy headline, in fact this column ran on page sixteen. On the surface it seemed like nothing more than a vandalism and desecration case. The grave of a recently inhumed teenager was dug up. There were no suspects in the case and there was no reason to desecrate the grave because the boy had been buried with no valuables. With no motive and no suspects, the case was dropped by the GCPD. The thing that struck Kon as odd was that the boy was one of those adopted by Gotham's local philanthropic billionaire, Bruce Wayne. 

Admittedly, Kon knew little about the man other than he was rich, lived in Gotham and seemed to collect troubled kids. But Kon knew he was rich and that made him suspicious in his book. Billionaire, CEO of a multi-national corporation, philanthropist. He was like Lex Luthor. The only difference was that Bruce Wayne lived in Gotham while Lex lived in Metropolis. The fact that one of the children in Wayne's care had died under mysterious circumstances in a foreign country was suspicious enough, but then the boy's grave was vandalized just made it all the stranger. It was the sort of thing Batman would have looked into. Or if not investigated himself, then ask Nightwing and the Team to look into. 

Especially since the date of this boy's death was so close to that of Robin's. The second Robin's that is. The one that came after Nightwing but before Tim. To be completely honest, he and Kon had never really gotten along all that well. But they were still Teammates and his loss affected them all. 

"Hey, Lois," he passed her the article. "You ever hear about this?"

Lois glanced over at the article and her face turned grim. "Oh. Yeah. I remember. Gosh, Bats was so torn up. Clark said he'd never seen him so mad before."

"Really? Over some random kid's grave? Or was it because this incident happened so close to Robin's death?"

She blinked at him for a moment, startled. Then remembered that Kon only knew his friend Tim's identity. He wasn't privy to the names of the rest of the Bat Clan. "Yeah." She nodded. "Yeah, that's why. He and Nightwing were torn-up about it for weeks. Don't you remember?"

"I remember Robin's death. We were all upset about it." He nodded. "But I've never heard anything about this kid's grave being dug up."

There was a prolonged pause that was filled with nothing more than the ancient analogue clock fixed to the wall dutifully counting the seconds. Tick-tick-tock. Tick-tick-tock. 

Finally, Lois shrugged with forced casualness and said, "Bats probably forbid the Team from investigating. Ya know, cause it was so close to one of his Robins' deaths and hit so close to home. He didn't want any of you to be emotionally compromised."

Okay, that made perfect sense. But it still didn't explain why he'd never heard of it before. Yeah, it was small news by his and the Teams standards. But as Lois herself said, it hit very close to home. Kon would have thought he would have heard something about it from Nightwing at least. Or Tim…? No. A quick double check of the date showed Kon that this was shortly before Tim became Batman's new Robin, never mind joined the Team. Of course Kon wouldn't have heard anything about it from him. 

Still, he might know about it. 

Kon folded up the article and slipped it in his back pocket. He would ask Tim about it next time they hung out. 

…

Was it strange that nightly patrols were more relaxing than hot chocolate and a bubble bath? At least, for Tim they were. The rush of air as he swung on his line. The pulse of adrenaline as he let go of the line just before the snap-back. The flood of endorphins at successfully completing a landing without injury or incident. It was invigorating. Tim was sure that even when he was fifty he'd still be doing this and still loving it. 

Then his mind jumped to the version of himself from the future. The fifty-four-year-old Commander. Still wearing a cape and exchanging the mask for a cowl. Even though Tim hadn't seen him swinging on cables or jumping off roofs, he was sure that he still could. If the Commander's fighting skills were any indication, it was clear that Tim still maintained his skills even after forty years. But those skills still didn't save him in the end. 

A flash of silver steel in dim light, the SHEEING of sliced air and spurt of fresh blood.

Forcing his mind away from his inevitable death scene, Tim instead turned his gaze to the city's skyline. He got a pretty good look at it in the year 2056, flying over the city with Kon and… the other Kon. It was a dozen times shabbier than the present -a feat many would say is not possible- with more buildings damaged and collapsed than standing and (by present standards) uninhabitable. But there were a few that still stood stable and firm, with only surface damage. Looking at the present cityscape, Tim tried to compare what was now to what he remembered of what would be. 

Some seemed to be missing from the current image of the city. Not built yet, he had to concluded. 

It was at that moment, when Tim was taking a mental tally of city structures that would have to be built between now and forty years from now that his comm beeped. It was far to early for Bruce to be asking for a status update and Dick had moved back to Bludhaven since Bruce returned from Rimbor, so he wouldn't be pestering him about his homework or whether or not he had school tomorrow (which he did). Curious and hoping it wasn't another great and terrible crisis Tim answered, "This is Robin. Go ahead."

"Hey man," the Superboy's voice crackled back over the channel. "I haven't seen you since Halloween. What's up with that?"

"Oh. Hey, Kon." Tim answered awkwardly. "Yeah… things have been kinda busy 'round here. Batman has us running patrols every night since he got back -looking for any remnants of the Reach that might be hanging around, ya know, basic sweep-up. Nightwing's moved back to Bludhaven so there's one less person around to help cover ground. I've been busy."

None of that was technically untrue. But it wouldn't have prevent Tim from at least calling the Superboy or making some time on one of the weekends to see him. They did have to work together to plan out a strategy for the prophesied Apokoliptan invasion. Him, Kon, and Bart. The three of them where the only ones who knew it was coming and therefore the only ones who could plan for it. They had sort of formed a secret society within the Team (if only three men can be called a 'society'), a conspiracy which Bart had taken to called 'Just Us'. But Tim was still reeling from his trip to the future and, quite frankly, didn't want to see either of them just yet. 

"That's cool, man, I understand." Replied the demi-kryptonian in his 'I don't believe you but I'm letting it go for now' voice. "Things are pretty quiet over here on my end. I spent my weekend in Metropolis with Lois and Clark, but Clark's got the city pretty well in hand so I've just been helping Lois with some old paper work and stuff. Really boring, to be honest. I was kinda hoping we could hang out. But I know Bats doesn't really like metas in his city, so I know you can't ask me to help you on patrol."

"Sorry 'bout that." Tim said, while silently thanking the Dark Knight for having such an order. 

"I haven't had the chance to yet, but I'm gonna ask Clark to teach me how he made the Fortress." An awkward pause. "Ya know… because that's something I'm gonna need to know… eventually."

"That's smart." Tim approved. "We'll need the Fortress of Paradise when the ash clouds block out the sun. If we just plan for and work around the big stuff everything else will fall into place and we'll get through this."

"Yeah. Uh, listen, Tim, its not just the big stuff I want us to think about." Came back the demi-kryptonian's reply. "Personal issues can be just as important. I really wanna talk to you about some of the other things we learned. I know you don't wanna know to much about your future-"

Tim already knew to much. A flash of silver steel in dim light, the SHEEING of sliced air and spurt of fresh blood.

"-but there are some things I need to talk to you about. Please, Tim. I don't wanna lose you as a friend."

A dismissal was on the tip of his tongue. Tim was about to brush off the Superboy's concerns outright and remind him that they already promised they would always be friends. Always. But then he remembered his future self's warning. The one he didn't get to finish before the Demon interrupted them. 

"Okay, now listen. The last thing you need to know is about Kon. One of these days, Kon is going to-"

But that sentence was never finished. Cut off by his grim reaper's sudden appearance. Then it was the fight, the sword, blood. Kon was there suddenly. Not his Kon, the future Kon, Superman-Kon. So much blood! Then he was forced out of the room by Kon's TTK and sent back to his own time. 

Tim knew that his future counter part and Kon's future counter parts were no longer friends. Though they might have used the word 'always' they both already knew that their oaths of friendship were not eternal. 

"You won't be losing me as a friend any time soon." He said instead. "We'll hang out as soon as the winter holidays start and I can get some time off from school. That way we can hang out during the day and I can still patrol the city at night."

"Okay." Kon agreed, not sounding very enthusiastic at all. It was only November and the winter holidays were still a month off. "Oh, by the way, I found an interesting article in the Planet's records room the other day. A cold-case from Gotham. Nothing big or Earth-shattering. But it might make an interesting distraction from… well, ya know."

"Alright. You can show it to me next time I see you." And on that note, Tim ended the transmission. There was a patrol he was neglecting and he needed to finish his circuit of the city with enough time to get home and get at least some sleep before school in the morning. 

…

Three shots of a gun, the sound reverberating through the corridors of the League's central headquarters. Three bullet holes in the target, forming a perfect triangle over the heart. He was a far better marksman than he was two years ago. Although, two years ago his mentor never let him hold a gun, let alone practice and use one. But things were different here in the League. The League of Shadows did not discriminate against or ban weapons. Not like Batman did. 

On the wall behind him was displayed what he used to call a 'Psycho Wall of Death'. Now it was just 'research'. Surveillance photos -curtesy of the League, newspaper articles, magazine clippings… two years worth of the comings and goings of Batman, Nightwing, and the Team. 

Thinking about it, he had to suppress a laugh. Over the past two years it seemed like they were already doing his work for him. With the death of Aquagirl, Aqualad leaving, and the destruction of the Cave. Most of all the destruction of the Cave. There was no base to rally around now. Those who lived at the base were forced to find lodgings elsewhere. This left the Team scattered and divided. Vulnerable. Easy pickings. 

Using the information the Shadows collected, he was able to build a list of everyone he sought revenge from. Everyone he used to believe cared about him. Everyone who left him to die. Everyone who killed him. By their inaction, they killed him. 

They could give him a proper burial. They could bring his body home from a foreign country to bury him. But they couldn't be bothered to save his life. None of them could be bothered.

Ras Al'Ghul kept close tabs on all his adversaries and was gracious enough to share said information with him. It was because of Ras and Talia that he learned of the very first name at the top of the list. Not because this person killed him or left him for dead. But because this person did something worse than kill him or leave him to die. No. What this person did was far worse than just end his life. It was far more than just killing him. 

Instead he stole his identity. 

The new Robin. The third Robin. 

The door to his room opened and Talia walked in. "This is not the firs time I've had to talk to you about target practice in here. We have a shooting range and several training dojos for a reason, Jason." 

Jason flipped the safety on his gun and tossed it haphazardly on his bed. Pulling a pack of cigarets and a lighter out from under his pillow, he turned around to face her. "Not that I don't appreciate what you and your father have done for me these past two years, Talia, but don't tell me what to do. I'm not one of your father's cult-followers." Jason selected a cigaret from the pack and lit it up. "Besides, I'll be leaving in the morning."

"You could stay here?" She offered.

He suppressed a laugh long enough to take a long drag off his cigaret. "Look, Talia, its really great, you helping me out and all." Jason ran a hand over a stripe of bone-white hair, the only physical indication that his current state of 'alive' was not entirely natural. "But if you really wanna get one of Bruce's kids so badly, why don't ya just fuck him already and make your own? I'm not your son, and you're not the right kind of bitch to be my mother. 'Kay."

Talia said nothing in return. His statement wasn't entirely untrue. Her father did want Bruce to marry her and become his heir, and she rather liked that idea too. But Bruce continually and consistently refused her advances. So, if she couldn't have him, Talia wanted the next best thing -a child from him. A boy to be her son and her father's heir. "I never said that."

"No." Jason agreed. "But I'm a detective. I can put two and two together. I'm leaving in the morning. I'm gonna get back at everyone who killed me and then I'm gonna take out the brat who tried to replace me. I suggest you get Bruce to sink into you before I'm done."

...


	3. First Stumbles

.  
tick-tick-tock  
.

Something cold and wet dripped on his cheek. Then another on his hand. A small droplet. It wasn't until the third on his eyelid that Jason reached a hand up to wipe them away. Blinking up at the sky, he noticed the normal smog-choked sky was replaced with dark storm clouds. It was then that the sky broke, showering him with thick and heavy rain, turning the dirt on his suit to mud.

With a grunt from effort, Jason climbed to his feet, using the headstone of some other poor bastard to help steady himself. His hands and arms were sore form the effort of digging himself out and his legs were stiff from disuse. But he made himself walk anyway. Putting one foot in front of the other. His hand itched. The ring ringer on his right hand. Jason scratched at it while wondering if he was allergic to something or if he'd contracted some graveyard mold. If that was the worst thing that came from this, he would consider himself blessed. 

The cemetery gate was locked. Chained and locked, actually. A great big padlock and chains in addition to the standard gate lock. That was Gotham for you. After visiting hours were over, ya gotta lock that shit up tight to keep the freaks out. Of course, that still doesn't keep the freaks out. Jason smiled. That was something he was very familiar with. 

Since he couldn't just leave though the main gate, he turned his attention instead to scaling the fence. His muscles were still stiff from disuse and so it took him several tries. But eventually Jason managed to jump from a headstone, to a tree, then finally over the fence. 

He took the landing badly, however. His foot slipped on something on the sidewalk. Some discarded piece of filth made moist and slippery from the rain. He lost all traction and fell backwards on his back. His head taking a none to enjoyable crack on the pavement. Jason saw stars for several moments before he was able to once again sit up without swooning. Coming back from the dead was more awkward than he imagined. (Not that he ever really imagined coming back from the dead.)

Glancing up and down the street he took a moment to gather his bearings. Figure out where they had buried, how far he was from Wayne Manor. How close he was to one of the supply caches Bruce had peppered all over the city. He wanted a change of cloths. Get out of this filthy funeral tux at the least. Maybe get back into the Robin suit if he could and- and what?

They left him for dead. Both of them. Bruce and Dick. All of them. Bruce, Dick, Alfred, Wally, Conner, Zatanna, M'gann, Garfield, Kaldur, Artemis, Red Tornado, Black Canary. They left him for dead. They killed him. He hated them all! Did he really want to don the Robin mantel again and fight along side them again?

No. He did not.

But he was still Robin. Dick gave it to him. It was his. 

So, he would not go back to Wayne Manor. Instead Jason would raid one of Bruce's caches. Get a spare belt and some supplies, and -if he was lucky- different clothes. Bruce rarely kept full uniforms in those caches. The most be could expect to find was a belt and a mask. The most vital pieces of the uniform. A belt containing the tools of the trade and a mask to protect your most secret and sacred identity. But sometimes he did stock them with jackets or spare pants and shoes. One never really knows what they're gonna encounter while on patrol. Sometimes costumes get irreparably damaged and have to be shed. Or one needs to make a subtle get away -dress up like a civilian and run. 

Then the question became, what would he do then? Where would he go?

Jason leaned against a trashcan, feeling dizzy with a headache. He didn't know if it was the crack he got from the pavement, or the fact that he just came back from death, but it felt like there were shards of broken glass shifting around in his head. Jagged edges scraping inside his brain and behind his eyes. And his hand. The ring finger on his right hand itched like mad. Jason scratched at it furiously as the rain beat down on him. He had to get out of the rain. Find shelter, find one of Bruce's caches, get a belt and a mask, figure out a plan. He didn't have a plan. 

Then again, Jason never really seemed to have a plan. 

There was no plan when he found the Batmobile unattended and decided it was a good idea to jack its tires. 

There was no plan when he discovered the boys home he was sent to was really a headquarters for a band of thieves. 

There was no plan when he decided to become Robin. 

There was no plan when he discovered the true identity of his mother and flew all the way to Ethiopia only to have the bitch turn him over to the Joke, who beat him senseless, blow him up, and kill him. 

Jason shook his head, hoping to shift the broken shards of glass in his skull into some arrangement that didn't hurt so much. So that each gagged piece wouldn't scratched against his brain so much. But it was hard with the rain beating down on him. He needed to get out of the weather. 

Stumbling down the street, Jason found shelter under a storefront canopy. He felt dizzy and his head hurt. The cold and the wet weren't doing anything to help. His vision swam and he had the sudden sensation of falling before he once again found himself on the ground. 

.  
tick-tick-tock  
.

"Remarkable! And you're sure its him?"

He was laying on something soft. Warm and soft. Like a pillow-top mattress and downy blankets. Someone was dabbing his forehead with a cool cloth. He didn't feel feverish, but it did help sooth his headache. The shards of glass inside his skull shifting. The jagged edges smoothing out. 

"Yes, father. I can't explain it, but its him. I thought he was dead."

People were talking. With effort, Jason opened his eyes and gazed up into the face of Talia al Ghul and her father Ra's. 

Instantly, he jolted fully awake. Trying to crawl away from them, he only succeeded in tumbling out of bed on the opposite side, once again hitting his head on the floor. All the jagged pieces of glass in his head soothed into place suddenly were jostled into a painful mess once again. Wincing through the sharpness and disorientation, Jason stared up at them. "Ra's! Talia! What are you doing here!? How did I get here!? Was all this your doing? Was it you who did this to me?"

If there was one thing to always admire about the al Ghuls it was that they were always calm and collected. This moment was no different than any other. With a sigh, Talia folded up the towel she'd been dabbing at his forehead with, placed it on a tray that held a bowl of cool water. She reclined in a chair, her chin resting on one hand when she answered, "I found you and brought you here. That is the full extent of my contribution to your current state."

"If you're asking if it was us whom resurrected you, then I can assure you it was not." Ra's said, almost matter-of-factly. As if it didn't even matter. "I was rather hoping you could enlighten me as to how you managed to cheat Death. It is a subject I'm rather passionate about, as you know."

Jason glared at him skeptically. "How the fuck should I know? The last thing I remember, I was being blown up! And when I wake up again I'm perfectly fine except for one unholy mother of a headache and -oh, yeah- I've been mother fucking buried alive!"

Ra's made a face of disapproval. "Well, this event has done nothing to improve your manners."

And that comment did nothing to improve Jason's mood. 

"Get up off the floor." Ra's ordered as if Jason were one of his Shadows to command. He stood from his chair and crossed the room to a well stocked mini-bar. It was then that Jason fully noticed his surroundings. A penthouse suit in one of the nicer hotels in Gotham Village, one of the city's older neighborhoods. Ra's ported two glasses of some dark purple liquid and handed one to Jason. "Since you are dead legally, this gives you an uncommon opportunity and freedom." 

"To do what?" Jason asked, taking the offered cup. He didn't see Ra's add anything to it before handing it to him, but he was still gonna wait for the old man to drink from his own glass before Jason dared take a sip. 

"Why, whatever you want, of course!" Replied the old Demon as if this should have been obvious. He took a sip of his drink and smiled sardonically at the late Robin. "Did you really want to spend the rest of your life as another one of the Detective's charity cases?"

The 'charity case' comment heated Jason's temper, but he didn't want the old man to see him riled, so he took a sip of his drink to distract himself. "This is grape juice!"

"Of course!" Ra's sounded almost scandalized. "You didn't think I'd actually offer wine to a minor, did you?"

.  
tick-tick-tock  
.

Be Bruce's charity case, or be the al Ghul's charity case. It all amounted to the same thing. Living off of some rich bastard's money. Enduring another head-case old man's training. Bruce or Ra's. They were only different in philosophy. 

While Jason appreciated what they gave him, he did not expect anything from them and he did not give anything in return except to stay out of their way. When he was Robin, he didn't get in the middle between Bruce and Dick when they would butt heads. When he was with the League of Shadows, he did not interfere with Ra's or his partners' convoluted plans to make life difficult for his former mentor, Teammates, and 'friends'.

T'ch. 'Friends'. Yeah right! 

They were the bastards that left him for dead! 

Bruce, Dick, Kaldur, Artemis, Wally, Conner, Garfield, M'gann, Black Canary, Red Tornado… all of them! 

None of them came to rescue him. None of this gave a rat's ass about him. They left him to die in that warehouse with his bitch mother. They killed him. All of them. By their inaction, they killed him. He hated them all!

But he would have his revenge. 

For two years he took the skills Bruce taught him and sharpened and honed them within the League of Shadows. Heightening his strengths, compensating for his weaknesses. And planning. Planning his revenge. Revenge on everyone who killed him. Bruce, Dick, Kaldur, Artemis, Wally, Conner, Black Canary, Red Tornado, M'gann… He would get them all! 

.  
tick-tick-tock  
.

Since the destruction of the Cave, those of the Team that lived within it were forced to find other lodgings. M'gann and her surrogate younger brother Garfield found themselves rooming with her uncle, J'onn, at his apartment in New York. 

M'gann ran a hand over the inhibitor collar around her neck. A measure she herself agreed to after it came to light that she was misusing her powers, not only to pull information directly out of the minds of enemies and fry their brains, but also to manipulate her own Teammates -namely Superboy. She realized the fault in her actions only after Gar walked in on the middle of a fight between herself, Superboy and Robin -a fight that started as a result of her attempting to use her powers on Nightwing. She didn't want her brother seeing her like that. So she agreed to wear the collar and have her powers taken from her and submit to weekly counseling sessions with Black Canary. 

But she didn't expect the punishment to last this long. It was three months now since the collar went on. Since her shapeshifting was halted and she became a prisoner within her own body. Since her telepathy was taken from her and the world became so very, very, very quiet. It was sometimes maddening!

Trying to push it from her mind, M'gann forced herself to stop storming the collar and instead began tapping a pencil on a half-finished shopping list. She glanced sideways at her phone, waiting for her uncle to text her back with whether or not his partner on the force was going to be joining them. Truth be told, she hopped she wouldn't. It would be hard to explain Gar to one of the uninitiated. That, plus she didn't feel like wearing a turtle-neck to hide her collar inside her own home. 

Her hand was stroking it again. 

Idly, she wondered if -given enough time alone- she could fiddle with it enough to either remove it or deactivate it. But she didn't know enough about its inner workings for that. She'd seen Wally, Nightwing -Dick-, and the other two Robins do amazing things with two paper clips and a piece of chewing gun. Boy geniuses they were. All of them. They could probably take the collar apart, put it back together, wire it with a tracer, or tap it with a spy microphone, without anyone ever even knowing the difference. 

But she had no such skills. This thing was stuck around her neck until Canary was satisfied that she was no longer a danger to the rest of the Team. 

Danger. Ha!

Misuse of her powers. Don't make her laugh. 

They didn't seem to mind, didn't seem to call it 'misuse' back when she was pulling vital, need-to-know information from the minds of their enemies. 

So what if she might have also used them a little bit on her Teammates here and there. So what it she used her telepathy to sooth Gar's nightmares after his mother died. It was the only way to get him to sleep! What would it have been like for him if she hadn't done that? So, maybe she might have augmented a couple of Conner's memories to her benefit here and there. So what if he didn't like some stupid movie about baseball or preferred the name she gave him over the name Superman gave him? It was just small relationship stuff. Who cares!?

What she shouldn't have done was escalate things so quickly so soon. Changing his opinion about a movie was nothing. His opinion about his name, was a bit bigger, but still small doings. Changing his feelings about how she was using her powers on enemies, however, ran deeper than that. It was rooted in the very beginnings of his life. Back from the treatment he endured at Cadmus. It was woven into the very fiber of his being -his identity. To change that would be to change him. Something like that -one way or another- would not go unnoticed. 

But she tried anyway. 

While he was sleeping, M'gann delved deep into the core of his psyche. But then everything went wrong. He woke up. Grabbed her wrist, starling her out of her concentration and pulling her mind out of his own through physical means. 

She thought it was all over then. Right the and there. That was the end of it. In that moment she realized she did something she shouldn't have. It was all over now. He would go and cry to Superman or Black Canary. They would tell her uncle. He would banish her back to Mars and it would all be over. It was the end.

And it was the end -of their relationship. Connor broke up with her. 

But he didn't go and cry to anyone else. He didn't tell Superman. Or Canary. Or her uncle. He remained silent. Kept the secret of what she did. 

That is, he kept the secret up until the end of one random and inconsequential mission. It was nothing really. A nothing mission. Surveillance. But during that mission, his Squad was captured, placed in an artificial dream scenario -not unlike Batmans Failsafe simulation back during the early days of the Team- and when Conner came back from that mission, he had had it. In a talking session with Canary, he let slip what she'd done to him. Things just went down hill from there. 

Forced her to attempt the same thing with Nightwing. 

But before she could alter his memories and opinions, they interrupted her. 

That was the end of it. 

That was good and truly the end of it. They didn't ship her back to Mars -thank the gods. But they did strip her of her powers. Take she shapeshifting from her. Trap her in a weak, useless, human body. Took her telepathy away. Made her deaf. Not deaf as humans understand the word. She could still hear sounds and understand people when they spoke. But her race did not communicate through sound. At least, not sound only. The majority of her people's communication was through telepathy. And they took that away from her. It was like she was suddenly a deaf mute. 

She could neither speak nor hear in the manner to which she was accustomed since she first hatched. 

Beside her incomplete shopping list, her cell phone began to ring. At least she could still speak and hear in the manner that is normal for most humans. M'gann picked up the phone. 

"Hi, Uncle J'onn." She forced a smile into her voice. She had done a great deal of smiling recently. She hoped this was what the others wanted to see from her. Hoped they would be satisfied soon so that she could get this collar off her. "So, is Haley joining us for Thanksgiving this year?"

"No." Came the uninflected negative. Has she still had her telepathic ability, even over the phone M'gann would have been able to tell if that 'no' was a 'no' of disappointment, a 'no' of relief, or a 'no' of ambivalence. She decided not to take the chance of guessing and not offer any commentary. 

"'Kay. That's all I needed to know. I'm going shopping now." M'gann stood from the table, sweeping up her shopping list as she did so. 

"Please take your mace with you." J'onn added. "This is not a kind city and you no longer have your normal abilities to protect you." 

Not long after coming to live with him, her uncle's partner, Detective Janet Haley, gave her a spray bottle of mace for her protection. It was small and sleek. Something that would easily look at home in a woman's purse. But with a chain to be clipped to the strap so that it can be easily accessed in an emergency. Haley then gave her a short lecture on safety and how to use it. Aim for the eyes or the nose. Run away as fast as you can. Call the police. In that order. Don't try to be a hero. 

Don't try to be a hero… that line struck an unpleasant cord with her. It cut M'gann like a sharp knife. 

After she and Haley went their separate ways, M'gann threw the mace canister in the first trashcan she saw. 

"Don't worry. I've got it." She lied. "I keep it clipped to my purse to I take it with me wherever I go."

.  
tick-tick-tock  
.

Her hair was shorter than he remembered. 

Not that that actually meant anything. Being a shapeshifter, her hair could be whatever length she felt like that day. But back when Jason knew her she seemed to prefer keeping her auburn tresses long, just below the shoulders. But now it was short. Tomboyish. It made her look older -not that she needed a hairstyle to do that. 

He followed her from the apartment building. She was living with Martian Manhunter, which struck Jason as odd, he would have thought she'd be shacking up with Conner on Superman's farm in Kansas. Not that he particularly cared, but he would have thought they'd have a small litter of krypto-martian mutant hybrids by now. Jason shuddered slightly at the idea. 

Using all the techniques for following people Bruce ever taught him, Jason watched her purchase groceries for a feast for three people. Everything but a turkey, which would have been awkward for her to carry home on the bus. That also struck him as odd. Why was she taking the bus and not the bio-ship or just flying? Why wouldn't she use her telekinesis to carry the larger or heavier items? Or was this part of a mission. Some convoluted undercover operation where she had to pose as a normal civil lain?

With a shrug, Jason decided he didn't care. She was the first on his list. 

He waited until she turned a corner, taking a shortcut through an alley. Never cut through an alley in New York. It was almost as bad as Gotham. 

Jason swung down a fire escape and cut her off, blocking her path, and taking her by surprise -which surprised him. She should have sensed his presence. 

M'gann gasped, startled. 

"What's that look for, Missy?" He teased. "Don't tell me you didn't sense me coming. I've seen you pick ninjas out of shadows." 

Here auburn eyes narrowed at him in suspicion. But Jason couldn't feel anything to indicate a telepathic probe or other intrusion. No pressure behind the eyes, no tingling on the back of the neck, no cares inside the forehead. Nothing. Just a girl glaring at him in suspicion. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"That a fact, Missy? What if I called you by your proper handle -Miss Martian."

Jason didn't wait for her second gasp of shock. He charged at her, wanting to keep the fight close. When fighting tele kinetics, distance is their advantage. The guns he brought with him wouldn't help much with her. Not when she could just puck the weapon from his hand. Or worse, turn it back against him. No, he had to keep the fight in close. Only use his own body as weapons. His fists and his feet. And keep it moving fast, not give her the opportunity to concentrate. 

M'gann twisted slightly to the side. Pivoting on one foot and using Jason's own weight to throw him over her shoulder. A common level one move taught to everyone by Black Canary. Jason did a quick summersault and took the landing on the balls of his feet, spinning around to once again face her. Only briefly did he pause to wonder why she was resorting to Canary's combat training rather than using her martian abilities. But he didn't dwell on it to long. M'gann was a bit slower than him, almost like she couldn't read his moves. 

Jason used that to slam his elbow into her back. She went down easily. Too easily. 

On the ground now, M'gann turned over and glared up at him. 

"I don't know who you are, or what you want, or what you think you know, but you won't get it!" She snarled. "But if you think that taking me down is gonna-" Jason noticed something silvery poking out over the collar of his jacket. He bend down over her, straddling her legs and reached his hands out to unfasten the top two bottoms. "-what are you doing!? No! Get off!" 

She began to struggled hysterically, screaming and wailing. Calling for help. 

"If you rape me, my boyfriend is going to kill you!"

"T'ch, please." Jason scoffed. "As if Supey could kill a fly. Besides, you're not exactly my type, Missy." 

To spite her struggling he managed to get her jacket unbuttoned enough to reveal an inhibitor collar. Like the ones used to keep meta-prisoners in check in prisons like Belle Reve and Stryker's Island. Miss Martian was wearing an inhibitor collar. That explained how he was able to get the drop on her and she didn't use any of her powers during their little scuffle. For some reason, the Team, or the League, or both had placed an inhibitor collar on the martian girl to dampen her powers. 

Jason began to laugh. Nothing he planned to do to her was as good as that. Betrayed and stripped of her powers by her friends. 

"What? What is it? What's so funny!?" M'gann rebottoned her jacket and climbed to her feet. 

"Oh, this is just precious!" Jason cackled. So much better. There was nothing for him to do here. "Later, Missy. Tell Gar I said, 'hi'."

He withdrew a grappling gun from his own jacket and climbed out of the alley. 

"Wait a minute!" She shouted after him. "What was that all about? Just who in the world are you!?"

.  
tick-tick-tock  
.


	4. New Plan

"Thanks for having me over Lana, Mr. Ross." Kon said as he set down an impressively large turkey on the dinner table -he played no part in cooking it. He pulled out his chair and waited for them to say their grace before eating. 

"Of course!" Lana said, not turning to look at him as she fitted Clark-Peter into his high chair, securing the boy so that he was in no danger of accidentally falling out. "Clark's practically member of this family and that makes you a member by proxy. Plus, you baby-sit CP for free. The least we can do is feed you!"

"I'm still confused as to why you're not having Thanksgiving with Clark and Lois in Metropolis." Peter commented whilst readying the knife to carve the turkey. 

There was a moment's hesitation in which Lana and Kon exchanged a look. Lana knew about Clark and Superman, and Kon and Superboy, but her husband did not. It sometimes made things awkward within the Ross household when he was around. Not wanting the pause to drag on into a silence, Kon opted to tell most of the truth. 

"Lois and Clark went to DC to spend Thanksgiving with General Lane and the rest of Lois' side of the family." He explained. "I didn't really wanna go with them -I'm not a big fan of the General- so Clark said I didn't have to." 

The parts that he eft out were of course that up until a few years ago, Clark had no such cousin as 'Conner Kent' and the General would raise an eyebrow at his son-in-law suddenly having a new relations that seems to have -apparently- fallen from the sky. If it bothered the General that much, he had the resources and connected to run a full background check and would discover that 'Conner Kent' didn't exist until 2010. The documents and backstory Batman furnished him with upon joining the Team were good and could foil almost any audit. But they weren't so good as to fool a critical government-level investigation. So, as not to stir any suspicions, Clark and Kon came to the mutual decision that it was best to stay away from the General. 

That, and Kon really didn't feel like sitting through an entire meal listening to the General bad mouth Superman, Martian Manhunter, and any other aliens that, quote, 'undermined the strength and integrity of the American people'. (By extension, this included Kon himself.) Sometimes it was like General Lane and Lex Luthor were reading from the same script. Kon didn't know how Clark and Lois could sit through dinner with the man and smile politely at every insult that spewed from his mouth.

"Well, you're more than welcome at our table." Pete said. "Like Lana said you baby-sit my kid for free! Now do want light meat or dark meat?"

Lana finished fiddling with CP's highchair, satisfied that he wasn't going to fall, climb, or squirm out and took her own seat. Food was passed around. Plates were filled. Grace was spoken. An they all dug in to a delicious country-style Thanksgiving feast. 

Halfway through the meal, Kon got a text from Tim wishing him a Happy Thanksgiving.

But it wasn't until after the meal that his phone began to ring. He didn't recognize the number, so he assumed it was Tim calling on a bat phone or a burn phone.

"Hey man!" He answered enthusiastically. "Great to hear from you. Hope you had a good dinner and things aren't to tense with you and your stepmom."

"Uh, what?" Came back the slightly gruffer voice of La'gaan, the Lagoon Boy. 

That was right! Kon gave La'gaan his phone number shortly after M'gaan's abuse of her powers came to light. La'gaan knew she was capable of using her powers on those she claimed to love, that she was -in short- the worst kind of abusive partner. But because she would be fitted with an inhibitor collar and unable to use said abilities, the Lagoon Boy had chosen to stay with her and support her while she sought help. This was, of course, against Kon's advice, but he did have prior experience with M'gann and her powers, so he gave La'gaan his number and told him to call if he ever needed help. Day or night. 

"Something wrong? Did something happen with M'gann?" The superbly asked, suddenly tense. 

"Well, yes and no…" Admitted the Lagoon Boy. "Its hard to explain over the phone. Where are you? Can I come to you? Oh! And don't worry. No one's hurt or anything. I just… you said I could come to you if I ever feel out of my depth. That's what you said right?"

"Yeah. That's what I said." And Kon meant it then and he was damn well going to make good on that promise. If La'gaan had an issue with M'gann, he was gonna do what he could to make sure everything was smoothed over with as little danger or hurt feelings as possible. He knew what it was like to be in love with a manipulative (and sometimes deceitful) woman, he knew what it was like to be in love with that manipulative (and sometimes deceitful) woman. "I'm in Kansas right now. The closest zetta tube is in a town called Smallville. I'll be at a farm outside of town. I'll text you the address."

…

Tim burped at tad uncomfortably. Dana was a nice woman and as far as stepmothers went, he supposed she wasn't all that bad. But her low carb, low glutton, high fiber, vegan 'turkey' made him gassy. He understood it. She was a physical therapist by profession and a health-nut by extension of that profession. But he just wasn't used to all this super-healthy, all organic, vegetarian, and vegan stuff. He longed for some rich, juicy, dark meat off a real turkey. He thought about Kon having Thanksgiving with Lois and Clark and he thought about the Superman's superb cooking and his mouth watered. 

He should have asked his dad permission to have dinner with his friend. Let his parents have a romantic meal alone without having a teenager underfoot cramping their style. His dad and Dana still hadn't been married that long (in comparison to how long his dad and his late mother were married before he came along). They might appreciate an evening with the kid home. And he wold certainly appreciate more conventional food. 

But then, Tim remembered, Kon would want to talk about their trip to the future and that was something Tim just did not want to discuss. 

A flash of silver steel in dim light. A splash of blood, flowing freely from an opened well in the chest.

Nope. Not something Tim wanted to discuss at all. But he did make a point to text him and wish him a Happy Thanksgiving. Tim might not feel like talking right now. But they were still friends. He texted Bart too. He was the third member of the little conspiracy within the Team. It was only the tree of them that knew what was coming. It was only the three of them that could prepare for it. So they had to stay in contact. Get organized and work together. Eventually, Tim would have to see Kon again and actually sit down and talk with him. If for no other reason than the fate of the world depended on them working together. 

…

"What makes you think M'gann is lying to you about something?" Kon asked, setting one of Ma Kent's old china mugs down in front of the Atlantean and filling it with hot tea. Tea being one of the only things he could successfully prepare in a kitchen without ruining it. 

Wolf trotted into the kitchen and stared longingly at the doggie bag Lana had sent him home with. He wanted the turkey and ham that was inside it. Kon sighed and portioned out a bit of the meat into the venom-enhanced-predator-turned-superpet's bowl before sitting down at the kitchen table across from the Lagoon Boy. 

"Well, its… I'm not really sure, exactly, see…" She and I had a date planned for tonight, after she finished dinner with her uncle and Gar. This isn't exactly an Atlantean holiday so I didn't think I should intrude on them. But that's neither here nor there. Anyway, we were out on our date and, well, one thing lead to another…" His scales colored a slightly brighter shade of aqua and Kon assumed this must be the fish-man equivalent of a blush. No need to guess what one thing leading to another lead to. Kon had also dated M'gann. He knew. 

"So you two were having sex." He translated as casually and unaffected as if commenting on the weather. "A bit cold in New York this time of year. I hope you were inside somewhere. But then I guess Atlanteans and Martians both like the cold -so whatever works for you." A shrug.

La'gaan's blush deepened. "We went to a motel so that we didn't bother J'onn or Gar. But that's not important. Come on old Chum, focus here! When I got M'gann undressed, her whole body was covered in bruises like she'd gotten in a fight! You and I both know that -aside from semi-regular spars just to keep her skills fresh- M'gann is a non-active member of the Team. She should not be looking like a human punching bag! I asked her how she got them and she said she tripped carrying her shopping home. Apparently she's a lot clumsier now that she hasn't got her telekinesis."

Kon had his own version of telekinesis. Tactile telekinesis, TTK. It did not make him any less clumsy. 

"But I know bruises." Continued the Lagoon Boy. "Those did not look like the kind of bruises ya get from falling down. Those looked like fists. Fists and elbows. She got beat up and she's lying about it. Why would she do that?"

"I don't know." Kon had to admit. This was a new one to him. M'gann was a vastly complicated woman. He could spend the full span of his kryptonian lifetime studying her and still never fully understand the woman. Isolated decisions and actions were better understood through their context then through her. "To know that, we would have to know who beat her up. I can't imagine it being J'onn or Garfield. New York's a dangerous place, maybe it was just a common thug who tried to mug her. She could just be embarrassed by the fact that a common lowlife like that roughed her up so badly."

Even to himself, that suggestion sounded weak. 

"We'd need someone who's a better detective than either of us to figure it out. Why don't you give Tim a call?"

Kon nearly had a sudden heart-attack at La'gaan using Tim's given name instead of referring to him as 'Robin'. But then he quickly remembered that La'gaan was also there in that dream-sim where they were all powerless and none of their mentors existed. At that time, both of them knew Tim as Tim, not Robin. It was how Kon learned his identity. It was stupid of him to forget that La'gaan would know his identity too. 

"The trail's probably gone cold by now." Continued the Atlantean. "But he's got a better chance of tracking down the perp than either of us do."

Briefly, Kon thought about how Tim had been avoiding him for the past month and wondered if he would just ignore the text or come up with another flimsy excuse for why he couldn't come. But then, the reason he was avoiding Kon was because Tim did not want to discuss what happened to them during that brief trip to the future. This, however, had nothing to do with that. This was about something that happened here in the present. No future discussion necessary. 

"Alright. I'll text him."

…

Reviewing his information was in order. 

He knew about most of the major Team crises up until the final Summit that was the falling-out between the Shadows and the Reach. The destruction of the death of Aquagirl, Aqualad turning turn-coat (excuse me, double-agent), and the destruction of the Cave. And he knew a little about after that Summit. About Wally's death. But M'gann's inhibitor collar was news to him. That was not included in his carefully compiled researched. Looked like there were more problems within the Team's house than he originally thought. They might even destroy themselves for him. 

Perhaps Jason should instead accelerate his plans. Leave Garfield, Artemis, Conner, Barbara, and all the new kids to their devices. Watch them destroy themselves at his leisure. And just focus on is final three -his main three- targets. Dick, Bruce, and the Usurper of his mantle. The one who stole the Robin from him. Dick and Bruce might have killed him. But the other one… the new one… did something worse than kill him. He replaced him! Made Dick and Bruce forget him. Death was one thing. But being forgotten entirely was worse. The new Robin made them forget him. The new Robin must die!

Dick. Bruce. The Usurper. Those were his targets. 

Forget everyone else. They didn't matter. 

Dick. Bruce. The Usurper. 

…

It was just as Tim was dragging himself back to the Batcave, exhausted, dirty, and aching all over that he got Kon's text. The normal civilian phone vibrating in one of the pockets of his belt. He ignored it, however, opting instead of strip out of his uniform and climb into the shower instead. Only after he was clean and sitting down -taking a brief break before making the trek home again- did he pick up his phone. 

'Need ur skills. Issues w/ M'gann. Meet Lagoon n I @ Manhattan zetta. WE DO NOT NEED TO TALK ABOUT FUTURE IF YOU DON'T WANT TO!'

Tim had to smile. Kon might be a little naive and very thick sometimes. But he was still no idiot. He knew exactly why Tim was avoiding him. But he was willing to put that aside in order to work together on more present and pressing matters. Something to do with M'gann. Great. Tim remembered how things went the last time. Kon being so terrified of her that he started self medicating in order to keep himself awake and alert. M'gann feeling pushed into a corner and turning her powers on Dick. Trying to manipulate the Team's leader in oder to save her own ass. In the end, it wasn't him and Kon that finally brought an end of her pattern, but rather the appearance of Gar and the others. M'gann didn't want her adopted little brother or her boyfriend seeing her that way. 

Since Kon was with La'gaan, Tim assumed something happened between them. He wasn't one to stick his nose into other people's romantic affairs (unless said affairs effected people or events outside of said relationship), but Kon said they needed his skills. If Tim knew one thing, it was that he had absolutely no relationship skills to speak of, whatever it was probably didn't have much to do with romance. It was probably his detective skills they needed. 

Tim glanced at the time displayed as the screen saver for the main bat computer. It was an absurd hour. There was no way he could come up with a legitimate excuse to sell his father for why he wouldn't be coming home tonight (and possibly might be gone the next day). But then, issues that concerned both an Atlantean and a kryptonian and required a Bat's skills tended to be a tad more important than concerned fathers. So, Tim stood up, pulled on his uniform.

They were waiting for him under the overpass that concealed the zetta tube exit. 

"Okay." La'gaan was first to greet him. "C'mon lets get to Queens. We've got a lot of ground to cover before day break. I'm fairly certain the crime scene is gonna be somewhere on M'gann's rout between J'onn's apartment and the closest grocery. Lets go find it."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Crime scene!?" Tim froze in his tracks. "Did M'gann kill somebody!?"

He glanced at Kon. He looked remarkably calm. Not at all grim-faced or sick with worry. There was no tension or misplaced sense of responsibility. So, probably not a death. An assault maybe? She didn't have her powers, not with the collar on her, so it wasn't like she could have ripped through someone's mind like she used to. But she was still trained in hand-to-hand combat and so was perfectly capable of kicking the crap out of someone. Likewise, she knew how to sneak into places. Theft maybe? Did she break into somewhere and steal something? What? Why?

"We're not sure what happened." Kon explained. "La'gaan can fill you in better than I can. But from what he's told me, we think she was either attacked someone or was attacked by someone. We just don't know where or why. That's what we need you for. You're better at figuring out a lot with very little to go on."

Well that was true. Tim -like all the bat children- was excellent at making intuitive leaps with minimal data to draw from. And his intuitive leaps did turn out to be correct over eighty percent of the time. "Alright. Lets find us a crime scene."


	5. Case Break

Dick's apartment in Bludhaven wasn't large. It was just within the high-end of what a rookie police officer could afford. But it was richly furnished in bright colors with a retro-disco theme. In some ways, Dick was still nothing more than a flamboyant circus brat. Flashy and showy with bright colors used to confuse the eye. A scan of the building, however, showed that while the apartment appeared small, there were at least three spaces concealed behind false walls or under the floor -the disco decorating probably also helped to hide the seems or latches. 

Barbara was with him. Jason remembered her. She was just new to the Batgirl mantel, still getting used to her uniform when he first came across the batmobile and decided it was a good idea to jack its tires. She was nice, but she seemed to have tried to hard to be a big sister to him and instead ended up as a strange smothering mother figure. It always grated on his nerves whenever they were placed in the same unit on missions. But then again, almost everyone on the Team had a tendency to annoy him. Gar was okay, they were around a similar age and while they had lived very different lives prior to joining the Team, they still managed to find common interests for boys their age. He liked Zatanna too, she had nice boobs and let them hand out of her costume. But that was about it. They were the only people in the Team that didn't irritate him, and Jason would never admit to calling them 'friends'. Friends didn't leave friends to die.

He made a conscious effort to pull his thoughts away from the Team and turn his attention back to Dick and Babs lounging on Dick's submarine-yellow couch. 

They appeared to be nearing the end of a date. Sitting on the couch, sharing a drink that was -in all likelihood- non-alcoholic. Dick being a rookie cop fresh out of the academy and Barbara being a cop's daughter, both still under twenty-one, it would not reflect well if either of them got drunk. 

Dick's hand casually rested on her knee. He must have made some joke or said something absurdly stupid because Babs laughed hysterically, covering her mouth with her hand to keep from spitting out whatever it was they were drinking. Dick used the opportunity to love his hand up her leg, pausing it in that disputable territory between knee and thigh. She looked down at his hand before giving him a sardonic smile and pointedly removing his hand from her leg.

In classic Dick fashion, he played the innocent. Throwing his arms up in mock confusion, his lips forming the words, 'How did that get there? I swear the thing's got a mind of its own.'

Babs did not seem impressed. 

Jason wished she would just hurry up and leave so he could sneak in and strike. Dick was his real target, not her and while he had no reservations about beating the shit out of any other members of the Team if they were in his way, he didn't really want to fight two fully trained bats at the same time if he didn't have to. 

With a groaning sigh, Jason cracked open a Coke and took a bite of a Slim Jim. He hoped he wasn't going to have to watch them have sex. Not that Barbara wasn't hot enough to interest him. But he really didn't wanna have to watch Dick bump-uglies on that vomit of color he called a bedspread beneath his tasteless mirrored ceiling. The 70s ended long before Dick was even born. Disco was dead. He should stop trying to bring it back. 

Barbara's lips formed the words, 'Try keeping your hands to your self, Bird-Brain. I came here to go over possible new locations for Team headquarters, not get felt-up by the Team Leader -which, by the way, would be an considered an abuse of your power.'

Ugh. So they were gonna spend the whole night porting over papers, and real estate listings, comparing the various virtues of different locations. A base in the mountains would give a high vintage point. A base on the coast would offer a launching point for ships or subs and offer easier access for their Atlanean allies. A base in the wilderness lowered the chances of someone stumbling across it accidentally. A base in a metropolitan center would mask the massive amounts of energy required to run the base. Etc. Jason yawned. He would have preferred they had sex. At least then he'd get a show. 

He opened another Coke. 

Finally, after his third can, Babs started packing up the papers and maps. Her mouth formed the words, 'I'll relay what we discussed to Bruce and see how much he's willing to let Wayne Enterprises invest. Between him, Queen Industries and Ferris Aircraft we should have enough to secure a property that has everything we need.' She stood to leave. 

Dick also stood, his back to the window, so Jason couldn't read his lips. But knowing him, Jason assumed he was probably saying something along the lines of, 'Are you sure you don't want to stay the night?' or maybe 'Let me give you a ride back to Gothom tomorrow, you can give me a ride tonight.' or, 'Lets get down and dirt before you go.' Whatever he said, Barbara gave a humorless laughed and shook her head in the negative. 

'Dick, your normal tricks don't work on me. I've known you to long. I won't be another notch on your bedpost.' She left, closing the door behind her. 

He leaned agains the closed door with a sigh like some love-sick loser from a crappy chick-flick romance. 'My bed doesn't have posts.' 

Jason could just throw up. 

He turned his attention down to the street and watched Barbara's car pull out of the building's parking garage. He followed the powder-blue Prius with his binoculars as she drove down the street, turned a corner, made a lane change and got onto the freeway. She was gone and Dick was alone. His patience payed off. It was time to strike. 

Using a grappling line hooked to the fire escape six floors above Dick's apartment, Jason went swinging through the bedroom window just as Dick was pulling on a pair of PJ pants. Jason had timed it that way. So that he would be completely off guard and have none of his weapons on his person or within easy reach. 

Dick might not be armed or have his belt, but he always had his training. The moment he saw something larger than a pigeon move in the corner of his eye, coming towards his window fast, he leapt out of the immediate path of impact. Leaping backwards with a mid-air summersault that landed him on his psychedelic bedspread. He glared down at the intruder. 

A man of lean but muscular build. Clearly a fighter. Clad in black steel-toed combat boots, equally black denim jeans, a dark brown leather jacket, and a full face helmet in red. The color of blood. The only real color in his costume. 

"Who are you supposed to be? Red Skull?" Dick asked. 

In answer to this question, the intruder reached into his jacket and threw a shurinkin -which Dick dodged. 

Landing next to the bed and crouching beside it he continued, "Although, I'm not sure what you want with me. I'm just a rookie. Haven't even been on the streets a year yet. Still fresh outta the academy. I can't have enemies yet. …Unless you're that guy I busted six days in a row for speeding. Oh, man! With all the tickets I wrote, that guy'll be in debt for life. Though… I get the feeling this isn't about speeding tickets."

Dick reached under his bed, fishing around for a night stick.

The mattress shook suddenly as the intruder jumped onto it with a forward flip. Dick looked up at his attacker only to find that he was suddenly starting at the barrel of a gun. The Nightwing froze, just as his hand closed around the handle of his weapon. 

"Drop it and bring your hand back out -slowly. No bat-tricks." Ordered the intruder. His voice sounded familiar, but Dick couldn't place where he'd heard it before. His eyes narrowed. The man knew he was trained by Batman! "My name's not Red Skull -that's just stupid. I am vengeance. And I am the night."

"Pff. Well, you sure as hell aren't Batman." Dick scoffed. Taking a risk, Dick let go of the night stick and stood. 

"No. I'm not." And the intruder kicked Dick squarely in the abdomen. 

He stumbled backwards, arms wrapped protectively around his mid-section, fighting the sudden feelings of nausea and urge to vomit that usually accompanied such a blow. His vision swam, but Dick did not pass out. A second blow from the intruder -this one to the face- did knock him on his back, however. The attacker jumped on top of him, pinning Dick to the floor and continued to pummel his face with punch after leather-gloved punch. 

"I'm not Batman because I wouldn't leave my partner to die!" He was snarling, saliva dripping from his lips as he spoke with such fervor. "I'm not a Nightwing, either! Both of you -you both did it! You knew where I was -where I would go! I didn't tell you, but you're the World's Greatest mother fucking Detectives! You should have known! So, why-" punch "-didn't-" punch "-you-" punch "-save-" punch "-me?!"

He paused in his punches, breathing hard. Exhausted, not from the fight -which was remarkably short- but from the intense emotions coursing through him. 

Dick stared up at him, still not recognizing who this man was supposed to be. Clearly, someone he and Bruce were suppose to save and someone who was privy to their identities. But that was a short list and every one on it was either accounted for or already years dead. "I don't recall the case." He said. "Maybe if you told me more about yourself. Your name, maybe?"

"My name!? You wanna know my name!" Snarled his attacker. He grabbed a fist full of Dick's hair, leaning down close, and growled, "Come on, Dickie, you know my name. You gave me your mantel."

Dick gasped, his ramblings finally making some version of sense. This man -whoever he really was- wanted him to think he was Jason. "How dare you!" Dick snarled back. "How dare you try and taint his memory! He was like a brother to me!" 

With the limberness of a master gymnast, Dick raised his legs to wrap his ankles under the impostor's chin. Applying a little pressure with his feet and a little leverage with his elbows, Dick managed to pull the man down while pulling himself up. Now it was the Jason-impostor pined to the floor. 

"A brother?" He groaned from between Dick's bare feet. "Don't give me that bullshit! Who would leave their brother to die in a wearhouse alone with his bitch mother!?"

The phone began to ring. 

They both ignored it. 

"How could you know that?" Dick demanded, applying pressure with his legs -a technique to motivate the intruder to answer the question. "Who are you?"

"I told you who I am!" His attacker continued to insist. "I'm Robin! You gave me the name, the mantel, its mine! But I guess I should be surprised you remember me at all. It didn't seem to take you and Bruce long to replace me. What's this one? Another circus brat like you? Another thug like me? Catwoman's bastard bat-kitten?"

Dick just stared down at that expressionless red helmet, trying to get a read off the man by his voice alone. How could he know so much about them? About his and Jason's backgrounds before they met Batman and became Robins. About Bruce and that he was Batman. Or that Batman had a bit of an on-again-off-again affair for the past -the gods only know how many- years. Then there was the question of why. Why was he trying to convince Dick that he was the late Jason Todd? What did he stand to gain from this farce? The passion and vehemence with which he spoke, the clear and raw emotions in his voice and the details he seemed to know might have been enough to convince the Nightwing if not for one -fairly important- detail. Jason Todd was dead. 

Over his years as Robin and later as Nightwing, Dick had seen some weird stuff. But he'd never seen anything that could lead him to believe the dead could return to life. As ghosts or zombies, maybe. But not a living being. He might know a lot about Jason, but he couldn't be Jason. 

The phone stopped ringing and the answering machine picked up. Both men continued to ignore it.

"Hey, Dick, its me." Barbara's voice said over the speaker. "Guess you went out to pick up an easier girl, or whatever. Anyway, I think I left my day-planner at your place. I'm on my way back to pick it up. See you in a bit."

The would-be attacker relaxed his neck and shoulders, loosening Dick's foothold on him. With his own legs, he brought his knee up to hit the Nightwing with a grazing blow on the shoulder blade. It wasn't enough to hurt him, but it did throw Dick off balance. He fell forward and to the side, releasing his foothold on the other man to avoid pulling a muscle. The intruder climbed back to his feet. 

Dick was quick to react. Jumping back to his feet, he used the heels of his hands in a two handed push impacting the center of the intruder's chest to push him away and get a bit of distance between them. "We didn't replace Jason! Nothing can replace Jason! Bruce… When Jason died it nearly destroyed Bruce!"

"Bullshit!" Lashing out in anger, the attacker charged Dick, a leather gloved fist ready to deliver a punch. But his anger made the attack imprecise and predictable. Easily avoidable. 

Jumping to the side, Dick allowed himself to drop to the floor where he rolled to the side of the bed. Reaching under it he grabbed the first thing his hand touched -his standard issue police taser. It wasn't what he wanted. But it was a non-lethal weapon, capable of subduing his attacker without killing him. It would do. Dick flipped it on and listened as the electronic revving indicated that the taser was charging up. It would be a full minute before he could use it on the intruder. 

The intruder, meanwhile, was recovered from his rage and miss attack. He turned around, saw Dick on the floor again, clutching the taser and grabbed the older man by the ankle. He pulled Dick towards him, one again straddling him. This time, however, he sat on the man's knees, pinning his legs down so that he couldn't try that contortionists' trick a second time. The gun went sliding off somewhere earlier in the struggle and so this time the intruder didn't use a weapon to make his threats. 

"I don't believe you, Dickie. If Bruce really cared all that much, he would have saved me. He wouldn't have left me to die. If you really loved me as much as you claim, you wouldn't have left me to die. It was the Joker who did it, but you had just as much of a hand in it. You killed me, Dick. And Bruce killed me." He was scratching the ring ringer on his right hand. "So I'll kill you. I'll kill you all!"

He closed both hands around Dick's throat. 

It was then that there was a knock on the apartment door. "Dick, are you home? I left my day planner here."

Both men looked to the door. Neither made a move. 

There was the sound of Barbara fiddling with the lock. The door opened.

Barbara didn't pause. Didn't freeze. Didn't stop to think. She opened the door and saw Dick on the ground, being held down by a masked man. The apartment in shambles. She reacted. Reaching into her purse, the Batgirl withdrew the first thing her hand touched which happened to be a tube of lipstick and threw it at the masked intruder. It did not have the same weight or balance as a batarang and it certainly wasn't bladed, but she had a strong harm and it still made a hard THUNK sound when it impacted the red helmet of Dick's attacker. 

Using the man's surprise and disorientation, Barbara pulled her belt out of her purse before throwing the bag aside. With the proper equipment now, she withdrew two real batarangs and threw those. But the intruder was prepared this time and jumped back -freeing Dick in the process. 

Dick climbed to his feet and Babs fused to his side. Together, Nightwing and Batgirl faced the attacker. 

"Who are you?" Demanded Barbara. 

"T'ch. I didn't plan on this." Said the masked man. He reached a hand inside his jacket and both Batgirl and Nightwing tensed, expecting another weapon. What the intruder withdrew instead was a grappling gun very similar to the ones they used. This he aimed out the broken window. Fired. And was gone. 

Dick and Barbara walked to the edge and looked out. The man was already on the opposite roof.

"I could follow him." Babs suggested. "You could get changed and I'll tell you where to meet me when I catch up to him or find his hideout."

"No." Dick shook his head. "He knows to much about us. You'll never be able to follow him. Babs, he attacked me at my home. He knew I was Nightwing. And he knew about Bruce and about Jason. He knows to much about us, we can't go after him until we know just as much. Otherwise we might as well just walk into a trap."

Dick walked to the bathroom where he retrieved a pair of tweezers and began pulling shards of glass out of his feet. 

Barbara followed him in with a pair of shoes. "What did he want?"

"From the sound of it, he wanted revenge for what happened to Jason." He hissed as the anti-septic stung. "Actually, he was trying to convince me that he was Jason back from the dead." 

"That's just sick!"

Dick finished bandaging his feet and accepted the shoes Barbara offered. He then retrieved a broom from the kitchen and began sweeping up glass. "I know. But the bigger question is, how could he have known so much about Jason and about us? When we figure that out, we'll know who he is. That's when we'll catch him. In the meantime, we need to warn Bruce and Tim. I think the three of us are his targets. Probably you too. Everyone who works with Batman might be at risk." 

"What about the Team? Batman was the original mentor for it, you're Team Leader, and Robin's on the Team. They might be targeted too. Shouldn't we warn them?"

Pausing for a moment, Dick thought about that. The Team was like a tight knit family. What affected one of them tended to affect all of them in one way or another. He should warn them, if for no other reason than so that the other knew what to do if they were with Robin when this red-masked guy attacked him. Or, since he and Robin seemed to be the main targets, should he only warn those that he and Robin spent the most time with? Kon and Bart for Tim. Babs, Artemis, and Zatanna, for him. 

"I'll consider it." He assured her. "I don't want to cause unnecessary worry. It might distract them while on unrelated missions. But I'll definitely warn Bart and Kon along with Tim. He needs to be protected. I don't think Bruce can take losing another Robin. It would kill him. And I'll warn Bruce. He will have a better idea of how someone could know so much about us or who it could be." 

"Do you want me to stay with you?" Offered Barbara. "In case he comes back."

Dick smiled. He had asked her to spend the night earlier and she declined -knowing just how he wanted to spend his night had nothing to do with sleep. But now she was offering. For a moment, he was temped to take her up on the offer if for no other reason than the opportunity to coax her into ruining their friendship in the best of ways. But then, now wasn't the time for that. So he shook his head in the negative. "No. He won't be back tonight. I'll just finish cleaning this up and call Bruce. He needs to know."

…

Bruce was just climbing out of the bat mobile, exhausted and ready for a nap when Alfred buzzed him over the intercom. 

"Please pardon the interruption, Master Bruce, but there is a guest waiting for you upstairs." 

That struck the Dark Knight as odd, seeing as how it was far to late at night -or far to early in the morning, depending on how you looked at it- for guests to be calling. But it wasn't unheard of. Dick, Barbara, and Tim all followed similar schedules to him, so it wouldn't be to outlandish to imagine them coming to call at this hour. But they would report to him in the cave, not to Alfred in the manor. But the oddest thing that gave the Caped Crusader pause and roused his suspicions was that Alfred used the intercom rather than coming down to inform him in person. That was definitely unheard-of. That could indicate one of two things. The first being that Alfred was being held captive by whomever the 'guest' was, or that he did not trust the guest to be left alone and unsupervised in the mason. Then he supposed there might be a third option where the intruders were using a synthesized version of Alfred's voice and it wasn't really the old butler at all. But that was the least likely.

"I'll be right up." He answered, as he stripped off the costume. Bruce slid into a small economic shower stall to rinse off quickly before slipping on a pair ordinary sweatpants and a house robe. But not before fastening his belt around his waist where the robe would conceal it. Since he didn't know who was up there with Alfred, or what Alfred's status was, hostage, injured, dead, or just a distrusting host, it would be silly to go up without it. 

When he got up there, Bruce couldn't decide if taking his belt was a prudent move or if he needn't have bothers. Honestly, it could go either way with who was waiting for him. 

Talia sipped tea in a drawing room while Alfred waited on her. He made sure to keep a respectful distance from the Lady, but never let a move of her's escape his notice. Nobody was ever sure what to expect whenever Talia came to town. On the one hand, she could just be over to try and coax Bruce into a pleasant evening of dinner, dancing, possibly a show, a night cap, and then a different kind of night cap. Or, she could be sent by her father on some convoluted plot of dastardly deception to destroy Gotham society or whatever. It was a coin flip. 

"Talia." Bruce said. Not smiling in welcome, but not instantly reaching for his belt either. "What brings you here? Business? Or pleasure?"

"Apology." She answered. "Neither having anything to do with business of my father's nor in the least bit pleasurable for me. I've wronged you, Bruce. I wronged you and now its coming back to bite, but not bite me, its coming back to bite you."

He raised a questioning eyebrow but said nothing, waiting for her to elaborate. When she did not immediately dive into further detail, the Batman asked, "From what direction should I look for this 'bite'? Where will it hit me?"

"The weak points in your heart." Talia supplied, not meeting his eyes. "The things you worry for, the things you fear, and… the things for which you are guilt-ridden." 

"Stop speaking in riddles, Talia. You are not your father." Bruce snapped, he had little patience. It was late -or early- he was exhausted, and their meetings almost always ended with him being either shot at or drugged (or both). "What did you do and how does it effect me?"

There was a pregnant pause, filled only by the ticking of the grandfather clock against he wall. Tick-tick-tock, tick-tick-tock. Finally, Talia took a deep breath. "I found a child. A couple years ago, my father and I were in Gotham on unrelated business. I went out, hoping to cross paths with you on one of your patrols, but found the boy instead. With my father's permission, I brought him into the Shadows. But he wasn't interested in joining. He spent the past few years learning form us, building on the training he already had so that he could take his revenge on the people he blames for his death."

At that statement, Bruce raised the other eyebrow. "I'm confused. If this boy is dead, then how can he be here seeking his revenge? And what does that have to do with me? I've never killed anyone. I don't kill people. That's a rather important rule for me and anyone I allow to work with me."

"I don't know how he can still be alive either. I was also pretty sure this boy was dead. I can assure you that it wasn't anything my father or I did that brought him back to life. The Lazarus Pit can save a person from the very brink of death, but it cannot resurrect a person once they've already died. It does not have that kind of power. As to why he blames you… from what I understand, it wasn't your action, but your inaction that he feels lead to his death and because of that you might as well have killed him." 

Then Bruce asked the one question Talia really hoped he wouldn't. She knew the answer wold blunge him into a darkness or guilt and self-loathing that would tare at his insides until he made himself crazy -well, crazier than he already was. 

"Who is this boy?"

…

"This place looks just like all the others." Kon lightly kicked a can in boardroom. 

He began this evening full of drive and purpose. Something was up with M'gann and they needed to find out what. La'gaan had asked for his help and he needed to uphold his vow and help a fellow dupe of hers solve this mystery. Tim agreed to work with them and Kon was finally able to speak to his best friend in person for the first time since Halloween. All these things filled him with energy and vitality, driving him to do his best. But after checking six or seven dirty alleys that all looked the same, his enthusiasm was beginning to wane. His purposefulness draining out of him like water in cupped hands. 

Maybe M'gann hadn't lied and she really did trip and fall down some stairs, or walk into a door, or whatever La'gaan said her excuse was -it wasn't important at this moment. Maybe they were just jumping to the conclusion that she was lying due to her past history with manipulating people. Maybe they should give her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe it was as simple as that. 

"I'm telling you it had to have happened somewhere along his rout." La'gaan insisted. 

Tim bent down, brushing aside old newspapers and other less savory garbage to pick up what looked like a button. A perfectly ordinary jacket button. "This looks like one of the buttons to that coat she got to hide her inhibitor collar."

Then again, maybe La'gaan was right and Kon was just getting impatient. Maybe it was just a bit to soon to start giving M'gann the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she was to accustomed to keeping secrets for her own good. 

"So then this is where it happened." La'gaan looked around as if they'd found the site of some great historical find, all they had to do was dig it up.

"Likely." Tim nodded. "But we're still not even sure what it is that happened. Did M'gann attack somebody without her powers to back her up? Or was she the one who was attacked? Or maybe she saw someone else being attacked and tried to intervene." 

Both Kon and La'gaan liked that idea. It implied that do spite all her manipulations and half-truths, she was still a good person. There was hope for her rehabilitation and possible return to the Team. 

"How do we figure out what happened?" Kon asked. 

"Look for signs of another person." Tim replied, as if this should have been obvious. "If there was someone else in this alley with M'gann -villain or victim- they would have left behind evidence." 

The three of them redoubled their efforts. Searching the pavement, under trashcans and trash, the bricks of the walls, Kon even scaled the fire-escape. Tim similarly climbed the opposite wall to examine the building roofs. There he found a nick on the roof's railing. A nick similar to the ones left behind by the same grappling hooks used in the Bat Clan's gapping guns. Could M'gann have fought with Dick or Barbara? Was that why she was keeping quiet about it? But then, why hadn't Dick or Babs mentioned anything to him about it. -Or course, Dick had already proved that he didn't share everything with his colleagues. 

Kon jumped over to see what he was looking at. "This looks like one of the marks left by your-"

"I know." Tim nodded. "That means that whoever M'gann was fighting with uses similar tools."

"Hey, what'd you guys find up there?" La'gaan called from back down in the alley. 

"A clue." Kon called back. Then to Tim he asked, "Are you done up here?"

"Yeah. There doesn't seem to be anything else that's pertinent up here."

"Great." Without warning, Kon wrapped an arm around Tim's waist and hoisted the Robin's slight frame over his shoulder before jumping back down into the alley to fill La'gaan in on the one and only clue they found. 

"You think she was fighting with Nightwing or Batgirl, maybe?" The Atlanean suggested. "I can't imagine Batman coming down here to shake her down. He's got so many other things going on, M'gann can't be high on his priorities list -assuming she's even on his list in the first place."

Tim thought it best not to mention that everyone on the Team and in the League was on Bruce's list.

Their conversation might have continued if Tim's comm hadn't buzzed at that exact moment. "This is Robin. Go ahead. Oh, Nightwing, was there a mission briefing I didn't know about? No. I'm out with Kon and La'gaan. Oh. Okay. Do you want La'gaan to come too? Understood." He looked up at his companions. "That was NIghtwing. He wasn't to speak to me, and since you guys are hanging out with me, he wants you to come too."

"Are we in trouble or something?" Asked La'gaan. 

"I donno. He just asked us to come in." Tim replied. "It sounded urgent."


End file.
